


Sherlock: The Problem

by IBegToDreamAndDiffer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Confessions, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Public Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-30 00:57:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBegToDreamAndDiffer/pseuds/IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft Holmes doesn’t understand the feelings he is currently having. Only one man can help him... Mycroft/Lestrade</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock: The Problem

**Author's Note:**

> Ownership: Original characters are owned by Arthur Conan Doyle, these versions are owned by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. I just get to play.

No, this could not be possibly happening. Although, it _did_ rank rather high on the list of things Mycroft Holmes considered to be stupid, idiotic, and absolutely pointless.

The _thing_ happening was rather annoying and embarrassing. Because Mycroft Holmes was a forty-five year-old man. He was _not_ a teenage boy. This did not happen to him. Mycroft considered such bodily needs beneath him. He only slept and ate when he had to and had never really felt the need to express himself in... _that_ way.

There was university, of course, where Mycroft had explored the opposite sex just to see what the hype was about. What he found was boredom, emotions, and far too many disgusting diseases. Why did adults choose to exchange bodily fluids with all the diseases you could get? Surely the sicknesses outweighed the pleasure?

Mycroft blamed his brother for this. It was Sherlock’s fault for moving in with that man, John Watson. Dr Watson, as Mycroft always called him, was a seemingly normal man. In fact he was so ordinary that Mycroft had barely bothered to completely register his presence. That was until John Watson had shot a serial killer to save Sherlock’s life.

Of course, Mycroft had seen the potential John Watson had. The way he stood up to Mycroft defiantly, refused to take money to spy on a man he barely knew. That was the soldier, of course; the loyal man that would come out in the face of danger. Mycroft had admired the strength John Watson had shown (not that he would ever admit it to anybody).

After the shooting incident, Mycroft had taken the time to look more closely into the people that flittered in and out of Sherlock Holmes’ life. He had noticed the growing attraction between Sherlock and John but had thought nothing of it.

Sherlock, like Mycroft, didn’t care for the exchange of bodily fluids. They both agreed it was disturbing, disgusting, distracting, and far too people orientated. It could never just be about giving into your animal instincts. Everybody made it about feelings, and emotions (which were actually the same thing, Mycroft realised), but all those were annoying things that Mycroft didn’t care for.

It was surprising, then, and a little heart breaking to see Sherlock begin a relationship with John Watson. Not just a relationship about sex (there was plenty of that), but one about connecting with another person and getting to know them; a monogamist relationship based on a foundation of similar interests, an understanding of each other and... love.

Mycroft found it sickening. That his brilliant brother would fall for something as idiotic as _love._ Sherlock had his vices, Mycroft knew this better than anybody. There were the drugs, the adrenalin rush, the danger, the cigarettes... but _love?_ The mighty Sherlock Holmes dating one man for _love?_

Mycroft didn’t understand and Sherlock wasn’t helpful. When Mycroft approached his younger brother, Sherlock just frowned in that infuriating way and said Mycroft wouldn’t understand. Mycroft, who understood most things ever invented, didn’t understand love or why his brother would want to feel it.

Of course, Mycroft loved his brother. But he _had_ to love his brother; they were family. And because of that, Mycroft was okay with loving his brother. But loving someone not related to you? It was a horrible thought.

And yet Sherlock was doing it. He loved John Watson, the danger-loving doctor with an uncanny ability to rescue Sherlock from the most dangerous situations. Said situations led to them shagging in 221B and Mycroft winced as Sherlock’s security informed him of his brother’s night-time activities.

There were very few things Mycroft Holmes did not understand. Love was one of those few things.

Love. It was an interesting thing, Mycroft thought. It made people act brave, smart, stupid, disgusting, and so many other things. It was a wonderful feeling, yes, Mycroft could admit that that was probably the appeal. But other than tying you so strongly to another person, what did love have to offer?

It was this question, and so many others, that had Mycroft glaring out his office window. It was a beautiful view but Mycroft rarely enjoyed it. Really, he rarely enjoyed anything. Putting plans into motion and watching them succeed, preventing world crisis’ (or creating them), a nice cup of tea, and meddling in his younger brother’s life, these were the few things Mycroft enjoyed.

He was not enjoying himself now. No, now he was confused, and that made him angry, and that made him cranky, and that made him thick, and Mycroft Holmes did _not_ like being thick. Stupidity could not be tolerated, not only because of the position Mycroft held, but because it was unacceptable. Besides love, stupidity was the most annoying thing to Mycroft Holmes.

He sighed and leaned back in his seat, which did little to fix his problem.

Ah, yes. The problem; the root of all Mycroft’s fears and anger. It was just one man.

But that one man was so many things. Like John Watson, he was ordinary. But it was his normality that intrigued Mycroft. He looked normal, acted normal, but was not, in fact, normal. He was so honest, so genuinely honest and caring, that he threw Mycroft completely. Most people were selfish and bitter. But this man, he was neither. If he found himself acting that way he’d stop and apologise.

Yes, he actually apologised and meant it.

He was infuriatingly charming that way.

 _Charming,_ Mycroft thought with disgust. Another thing that was adding to his problem.

The man. The one man. The one man that was causing Mycroft’s problems.

He curled his fingers into fists as he thought about said problem. It was a big problem, especially when Mycroft had a meeting in two hours. And if the past three hours were anything to go by, this problem wasn’t going to go away. But Mycroft refused to do anything about it other than think. He had to _think_ of a way to make it stop.

Unfortunately, for all his intelligence, this was one problem that thinking couldn’t make go away.

Sighing, Mycroft closed his eyes. The man appeared in his mind and he grunted, flipping his eyes open with a scowl.

It was Sherlock’s fault, remember? Mycroft had only met this man because of Sherlock. He was constantly in the younger Holmes’ life, helping, hindering, and controlling the hurricane-like force that was Sherlock Holmes.

Because of Sherlock’s discrepancies in the past, Mycroft was always looking into the people who associated with his younger brother. There were the boring people like Sergeant Sally Donovan, and the annoyingly thick Anderson, who was much stupider than Sherlock made him out to be.

And then there were people like John, who surprised Mycroft, much to his annoyance.

And the man.

Bloody Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.

Ordinary. Average. Mundane. Normal.

And so fascinating.

Married young, divorced young, drinker, smoker, bisexual (currently no significant other), smart, funny, charming, handsome, and nice enough to put up with the lunatic Sherlock Holmes.

Why was he so interesting? Mycroft couldn’t work it out, at least not at first. He found himself thinking more of the DI, who obviously found Mycroft interesting. Mycroft could practically see the thoughts as he spoke to the DI in person. It was easy, like reading a list. A list of Lestrade’s thoughts on Mycroft;

_Interesting– >_

_Handsome– >_

_Smug bastard– >_

_Charming– >_

_Annoying sod– >_

_Looks good in a suit– >_

_Sherlock’s brother!– >_

_Still good looking– >_

_Nice eyes– >_

_Smart– >_

_Arsehole– >_

_Still good looking, though– >_

_Bet he’s good in bed, the quiet ones always are– >_

Mycroft had stopped watching there. He didn’t care if DI Lestrade wanted to sleep with him. Mycroft felt no need to look too deeply into his basic animal needs. He hadn’t in some time (ten years, seven months, forty-three days and seventeen hours to be exact). A simple DI thinking he was a handsome, charming, smug sod would not change the way Mycroft thought about sex.

And yet it did.

Because suddenly Lestrade and Mycroft were thrown together in a lot of situations. It was almost like a test for Mycroft. Someone was dangling a sexy ( _now wait, where did_ that _come from?)_ man in front of him and seeing what Mycroft would do.

Nothing. He’d do nothing.

Which was why he had a problem because apparently, even though Mycroft’s mind did not care to partake in sexual stimulation, his _body_ did. And try as he might, Mycroft could not ignore the throbbing flesh between his legs.

It was a curious incident Mycroft was finding himself in more of late. He would speak, or think, or hear about the DI and his cock would twitch. Mycroft, of course, new the scientific reason; he was sexually attracted to the cop and his body wanted to feel the DI’s beneath it.

But Mycroft wouldn’t hear of it. He had ignored sexual stimulation of any kind for ten years. It would be not different now.

And yet it _was._ Every morning, at least once, Mycroft would find his cock rising to attention and demanding to be entertained. And Mycroft wouldn’t, because he (MYCROFT BLOODY HOLMES!) would not partake in such disgusting and mundane activities like masturbation.

This did little to satisfy his cock and he growled in frustration. How was it that one man (Gregory Bloody Lestrade) could do this to him? Why was it that Mycroft found himself thinking about the DI naked? It didn’t make sense, and Mycroft didn’t like things not making sense. Everything had to be perfect and organised in the massive maze that was his mind. Without organisation there was chaos. And Mycroft Holmes did _not_ like chaos.

And DI Lestrade was throwing his mind into chaos.

Mycroft grunted and moved to cross his legs, only to find his erection in the way. Yes, just another problem to add to the growing list.

Mycroft had the current list of problems in his head;

-                       Erection

-                       DI Lestrade

-                       Sex with DI Lestrade

-                       Love... what was it?

-                       Why did he want to have sex with DI Lestrade?

-                       Why did his cock twitch every time he thought of DI Lestrade?

-                       Why the bloody hell did DI Lestrade had the ability to make Mycroft’s cock twitch?

Problems and questions. Problems and questions with no solutions or answers. And it was frustrating Mycroft to no end.

What did he have to do to stop these annoying erections? Should he just cave in and have sex with the DI? The man wouldn’t be unwilling, Mycroft could see it written all over the Lestrade’s face.

But no. Mycroft was not going to give in just because his body decided it wanted a fuck. He was Mycroft Holmes, he was better than that. He wasn’t weak like Sherlock. He would _not_ give in.

There was a knock on the door and Mycroft jumped. Another annoying problem that came with having a constant erection. You were worried about anybody seeing you. Mycroft could not afford to show fear. He also couldn’t afford to show his erection.

He turned quickly and tucked himself beneath his desk, hiding his lap (and throbbing cock) from view. He looked down at the sheets on his desk, pretending to be busy, and said, ‘Yes?’

The door was pushed open and Mycroft’s assistant (he hadn’t bothered learning her name this week) entered.

‘Sir, DI Lestrade is here to see you.’

Mycroft nearly jumped. _Nearly_ being the key word there. Instead he cleared his throat and, not looking up from his sheets, said, ‘Yes, send him in.’

His heart beating quickly (ANOTHER PROBLEM!), Mycroft didn’t look up as he heard another person enter the room. And then the door was shut and there was silence. Awkward silence, with Mycroft pretending to be busy and the person who was causing so many problems just... standing.

Lestrade cleared his throat and finally Mycroft looked up. He was a tall man, but shorter than Mycroft ( _the perfect height to hug him_ , Mycroft thought before smashing those thoughts with a brick) with dark brown eyes and short, spiky grey hair. He was broad-shouldered and slim, very fit for his age ( _forty-eight_ ).

And then he could _smell_ Gregory. He smelled of man, and fairly cheap but nice cologne, and sweat, and gun-powder, and ink, and _Gregory._

Mycroft blinked. ‘How may I help you, Inspector?’

Greg seemed nervous but Mycroft didn’t care why. He just wanted Gregory gone. The man did too many things to Mycroft, made the politician _feel_ too many things. He needed him gone.

‘I just wanted to discuss something with you, Mycroft.’

Another problem. Greg called him Mycroft. Nobody else did, only Sherlock and Mummy. And these days she could barely remember her own name let alone Mycroft’s. But Mycroft had never corrected him, he had never asked that Greg call him Mr Holmes, or Holmes, or just That Bastard. It was Mycroft, ever since about a month ago. That’s when the erections had started...

‘What is it that you would like to discuss?’ Mycroft asked, not bothering to feign interest. He wanted Gregory gone. The man’s presence, his lips, his smell... Mycroft had never been so hard in his life. And that was worrying, and uncomfortable, and embarrassing, and absolutely _not_ acceptable.

‘It’s... difficult,’ Greg said and sat on the chair in front of Mycroft’s desk.

Mycroft’s eyes followed the DI’s descent and he noted the small sliver of skin he had seen as Greg’s shirt road up his stomach.

 _No, not acceptable, being this hard is not acceptable. It isn’t, it’s not possible. He must leave_ now!

‘Does it concern Sherlock?’ Mycroft asked.

‘No,’ Greg said.

This wasn’t making sense. And Mycroft didn’t like things not making sense. It was a problem... another one.

The only thing Mycroft and Lestrade had in common was Sherlock. If Gregory wasn’t here to talk about Mycroft’s brother than Mycroft was at a loss to find another subject.

‘I don’t understand,’ Mycroft finally admitted, his frustration showing. The charming facade he always put on was cracking beneath the weight of all his fucking problems!

‘Er, are you okay?’ Greg asked.

He really cared. Of _course_ he cared! Greg always cared! He even cared about Mycroft, a man who hadn’t exactly been nice to the DI over the past five years.

‘I’m fine,’ Mycroft said tightly.

‘You’re lying,’ Greg sighed.

Sighing? Why was he sighing? Frustrated? Tired? Angry? Annoyed? Mycroft DEMANDED TO KNOW!

But he kept quiet, his cock twitching beneath the desk. Embarrassing... embarrassing... so _very embarrassing!_

‘You can talk to me, Mycroft,’ Greg said. ‘I know you like people to think you’re cool and charming and smooth. But you can be yourself around me, I don’t mind.’

‘I’m perfectly happy being who I am, thank you very much!’ Mycroft snapped.

Normally his mood ranged from polite to slightly amused in front of the DI. And of course, lately, there was the whole sexual attraction thing. But other than that, Lestrade had never seen Mycroft like this.

‘Now you’re just being stupid,’ Greg said.

‘It’s your fault!’

Greg’s eyes went wide. ‘I... excuse me?’

Mycroft breathed heavily, his own eyes widening slightly. No, he had not meant to say that. Mycroft was always in control, always keeping tabs on what he said. He had not meant to blame the DI... not aloud, anyway.

‘Mycroft, what do you mean? What’s my fault? Are you angry at me?’

‘Yes!’ Mycroft snapped. Might as well go all the way and admit everything. ‘Yes! And no! And FUCK!’

He leapt back from his table and stood. And, of course, Greg jumped. And then his eyes roamed down to see the bulge in Mycroft’s pants.

‘I... uh,’ Greg mumbled.

Mycroft was seething. Could the man not see what he was doing? How he was stripping away all the calculated and protective layers Mycroft had wrapped himself in? He was losing control and Mycroft Holmes did _not_ like losing control.

‘I can’t stop thinking about you!’ Mycroft admitted angrily. ‘Every goddamn morning–’ (swearing was fun, he’d forgotten) ‘–I wake up with a bloody erection because I’ve dreamed of you! I see you and I want to just... I want to fuck you! And I don’t do that, I can’t do that, I _won’t_ do that! I won’t allow myself to fall for such petty feelings!’

Greg seemed to lock onto the last word. ‘Feelings?’

‘Yes, feelings!’ Mycroft shouted. ‘Sherlock and his fucking–’ (more swearing) ‘–feelings! He and that doctor doing... doing disgusting, dirty things, just because of their feelings! I don’t... I don’t understand!’

‘What exactly don’t you understand?’ Greg asked. He was a cop, he was used to being yelled at, shot at, kicked at. Mycroft exploding wasn’t the worst thing he’d faced. Now, if Mycroft got _violent¸_ then that was time to start panicking.

‘Love!’ Mycroft hissed. ‘Love and feeling... and wanting to touch one person, just one person! I don’t understand the want to wake up with just one person and see them over and over again. What is the point?’

‘You want to... touch me?’ Greg asked. He was a very good cop. ‘And wake up with me?’

‘Yes!’ Mycroft shouted and ran his hands through his hair. ‘I do _not_ understand! Why is it that you make me feel this way, Gregory? I demand to know why I feel hurt and confused and so bloody angry and... and...’

‘Horny?’ Greg tried and Mycroft glared at him. ‘Right, sorry. Um, Mycroft, are you really telling me that you can’t figure out why you feel like this? Aren’t you a genius?’

Mycroft scowled. ‘Even genii don’t know everything.’

‘Right, of course,’ Greg said. ‘I forgot you and Sherlock don’t do well with... people.’

Mycroft’s scowl darkened and Greg sighed.

‘Mycroft, you honestly... you don’t realise, do you?’

‘Realise what?’

Greg smiled slightly. Mycroft found it infuriating and lovely and just wanted to kiss it away...

‘Damn it!’ he shouted and Greg chuckled. ‘Stop laughing!’ Greg smiled. ‘Stop it!’

‘Mycroft,’ Greg sighed and shook his head.

‘What?’

‘You’re... well, it sounds like... God, it’s like explaining to a three-year-old that Santa isn’t real.’

Mycroft frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Mm, a lot of that going around,’ Greg smiled.

‘I am currently going insane, Gregory,’ Mycroft said. ‘If you would please tell me what you seem to know so as to end my suffering.’

Greg chuckled. ‘Mycroft, you’re in love.’

‘Love?’

‘Yes.’

‘I... I’m in _love_?’

‘Yes.’

‘With...?’

‘Me.’

‘With you?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m in love.’

‘Yes.’

‘With you.’

‘Yes.’

‘Stop saying yes.’

‘Yes.’

Mycroft scowled. ‘This isn’t funny, Gregory.’

‘No,’ Greg agreed, ‘but it is very sweet.’

‘Sweet?’

‘Yes.’

Mycroft glared at him and Greg chuckled.

‘I... I cannot be in love.’

‘Why not?’ Greg asked and leaned back in his seat, folding his arms. He was actually waiting for an answer, a proper one.

Mycroft frowned before placing his hands on the table to look at Greg. ‘I don’t fall in love, Gregory. I never have and I never will.’

‘Okay...’ Greg said slowly. ‘And why is that?’

‘I... b-because...’ Even Mycroft knew that was a poor answer.

‘Mycroft,’ Greg said, ‘I know that this is difficult for you, admitting to actually having human emotions. But you denying how you feel isn’t going to make things any easier. You have to accept that you’re in love and then decide what to do.’

And then Greg just sat there, all cool and collected, while Mycroft had a mini meltdown. He rung his hands, ran them through hair, pushed pencils across his table, and sat down heavily.

‘I still don’t understand.’

‘What exactly don’t you understand?’ Greg asked.

‘If I _am_ in love...’ Mycroft said slowly, ‘how did it happen?’

Greg shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It could be a small feeling you get in your gut. Like, maybe you just suddenly like spending time with the person. Or you find them attractive and have sex–’ (Mycroft’s cock twitched) ‘–over a period of time and start to only want to do it with that person. It can be anything, Mycroft.’

‘I... I still don’t understand,’ Mycroft admitted.

‘Well, how about I tell you something?’ Greg asked. Mycroft raised an eyebrow. ‘It was actually the thing I came here to talk to you about.’

‘Go on,’ Mycroft said.

‘I came here,’ Greg said and suddenly turned red. ‘I came here to tell you that I am in love.’

Mycroft was confused. ‘What has that got to do with me?’

Greg rolled his eyes. ‘Jesus Christ, Mycroft!’ I’m in love with _you,_ you idiot!’

They both went silent, staring at each other. Mycroft just watched Greg carefully, waiting for the punch line. But it never came.

‘You love me?’ Mycroft asked. ‘You’re in love with me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Why?’

‘That is what I asked,’ Mycroft said.

Greg smiled. ‘I love you, Mycroft Holmes, because you are you. You’re charming and funny, when you want to be, you’re handsome, smart, a talented piano player, and a hard worker. I enjoy spending time with you and I constantly get erections from thinking about you.’

Mycroft looked down at his own.

‘And I can’t help how I feel, Mycroft. I know its love because you’re all I think about. You’re like a bloody puzzle that I can’t figure out. The rest of my thoughts just go all crazy and my mind is in–’

‘Chaos?’ Mycroft asked.

‘Yes, exactly,’ Greg said. ‘I know it’s stupid, you being... I dunno, I thought you were asexual or something. But I thought I’d come here to talk to you about it. And then you just said all that about me and, well... here we are.’

They were silent again, both staring at each other. Mycroft was aware that his cock was still aching, wanting to be touched. And he had a meeting...

‘I’m still confused,’ Mycroft said.

‘Love is confusing.’

‘Sherlock can do it.’

Greg smiled. ‘Yes, he can. He loves John very much.’

‘How?’ Mycroft asked.

‘How?’

‘Yes,’ Mycroft said. ‘How and why? I don’t understand. If this is love then it is difficult and confusing. It makes me feel out of control and I don’t like that. And sex, exchanging bodily fluids, it’s always horrible. I’ve never enjoyed it.’

‘Maybe you just haven’t been having the right sex,’ Greg said.

Mycroft frowned at him.

‘Mycroft, you can’t control everything, even you know that. And yes, love makes you feel slightly out of control and confused. But it’s worth it. The kissing, the cuddling, even the sex. It makes you feel closer to the person you love.’

Mycroft leaned back in his chair. ‘I don’t believe you.’

Greg raised his eyebrows. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I don’t believe you,’ Mycroft repeated. ‘Kissing, and _cuddling_ , and sex is all horrible and unnecessary.’

Greg snorted. ‘Mycroft Holmes, you haven’t been kissing the right people.’

Mycroft just glared.

‘Fine,’ Greg said and stood.

‘Where are you going?’ Mycroft asked, suddenly upset. He didn’t want Gregory to leave. He... he liked having the man around. Was Greg right? Was Mycroft in love with him?

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Greg said and rounded the table. He pulled Mycroft’s chair around so that the taller man was facing him. He placed his hands on Mycroft’s forearms and leaned down, his face coming dangerously close to Mycroft’s. Mycroft could feel Greg’s breath wash over his face and he gulped, suddenly feeling nervous.

‘Gregory, what are you doing?’

Greg said, ‘For once in your life, Mycroft, _shut up_.’

He leaned forward and pressed his lips against Mycroft’s. It was soft, and wet, and... and _nice._ Mycroft wasn’t overly enjoying it but it wasn’t bad either. Greg’s lips were warm and nice and Mycroft found himself kissing back.

Greg smiled against him and gently pulled his lips open to run his tongue along Mycroft’s bottom lip. Mycroft jumped and pulled back.

‘Sorry,’ Greg said.

‘No, it was... nice,’ Mycroft said. ‘Just unexpected.’

‘Really?’

Mycroft nodded. ‘I would like to... try that again.’

This time he leaned up to kiss Greg. Greg smiled and kissed back, waiting a few seconds before licking Mycroft’s lip again. This time Mycroft opened his mouth and Greg’s tongue darted inside.

The sudden taste of Greg (something Mycroft had dreamed about a _lot_ ) was overwhelming and Mycroft felt a groan in the back of his throat. Greg chuckled and Mycroft clamped his lips shut.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ Greg said quickly.

‘You’re laughing at me,’ Mycroft said.

‘I am not,’ Greg sighed. ‘I was... it was nice, Mycroft. I got you to make that noise, that means you liked it.’

Mycroft frowned and Greg leaned back to sit on his desk.

‘Mycroft, how experienced are you? With sex, I mean.’

Mycroft swallowed. This was not something he discussed with anyone, or thought about very much, but he couldn’t deny that kissing Gregory was nice. So he found himself saying, ‘I experimented in university. I had sex. And since then there have been occasions, mostly alcohol related, where I have had sex.’

‘With women?’

Mycroft nodded.

‘Was it good?’

‘No,’ Mycroft said. ‘I do not understand why everybody likes it so much. I do not see the big deal.’

‘Again, Mycroft, you just need to be doing it with the right people. May I try something?’

‘What?’

‘Just promise me you won’t freak out,’ Greg said. ‘Just let me try something, okay?’

Slowly, Mycroft’s curiosity got the better of him and he nodded. ‘Okay.’

Greg smiled and slid off the desk. Suddenly he was stepping over Mycroft to sit on his lap.

‘Gregory!’ Mycroft gasped in surprise.

Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s neck and pulled the taller man in for a passionate kiss. He stuck his tongue into Mycroft’s mouth and explored thoroughly, feeling Mycroft’s hands find the small of his back. Greg thrust himself forward.

A wave of pleasure went through Mycroft’s body and he moaned in surprise. He definitely had not felt _this_ when he had had sex.

‘This... is... different,’ Mycroft managed to say.

Greg pulled back but remained sitting on Mycroft. ‘Do you like it?’

‘Yes,’ Mycroft said. ‘I don’t understand why sex has never made me feel like this.’

Greg chuckled suddenly.

‘What?’ Mycroft asked. ‘What is it?’

‘Mycroft,’ Greg said slowly, ‘did you ever think that maybe you’ve never enjoyed sex because you’re gay?’

Mycroft frowned. ‘What?’

‘Mycroft, have you ever had sex with a man?’

‘No.’

‘Don’t you see?’ Greg giggled again. ‘If you’re gay, which from the erection I feel pressing into me, you are, then you wouldn’t enjoy sex with a woman. Sure, you’d get your rocks off, but you don’t actually enjoy it because you’re not attracted to women. God, for a genius you sure are thick.’

Mycroft frowned. He hadn’t actually thought about that. Of course, it made sense now. Maybe that’s what Sherlock had discovered with John; maybe the sex was suddenly good because John was a man.

Greg pushed himself forward slowly and Mycroft gasped as Greg’s erection rubbed against his. The noises Mycroft was making were embarrassing, at least to Mycroft.

‘You’re an idiot,’ Greg said and leaned forward to run his lips along Mycroft’s neck.

Mycroft found his eyes drifting shut and, despite himself, he groaned again. Gregory was very good with those lips and Mycroft found his cock twitching uncomfortably in his pants. He wasn’t used to this and had never felt it before; just the sheer _joy_ of having Greg rubbing against him was enough to send Mycroft over the edge.

‘Do you want me to stop?’ Greg asked.

‘No,’ Mycroft mumbled.

‘Good,’ Greg said and captured Mycroft’s lips in his own.

They kissed softly, Mycroft’s moans being met by Greg’s. If possible it made Mycroft feel hotter.

Greg couldn’t believe the switch in roles. Usually Mycroft Holmes was in charge of any situation; you always looked at him to lead. But now Greg found himself in the lead with Mycroft following him. The man had no idea when it came to sex and Greg was enjoying being in charge.

‘I... this...’

‘What?’ Greg asked, kissing Mycroft’s jaw.

‘I like it,’ Mycroft admitted.

‘Good,’ Greg said and slipped off of Mycroft. Mycroft whined and Greg smiled. ‘Relax, I’m not going anywhere.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Mycroft said.

‘I think there’s something you’ve been neglecting,’ Greg grinned. He dropped to his knees and began unbuckling Mycroft’s belt.

‘What are you doing?’ Mycroft demanded.

‘Proving that you’re gay,’ Greg said and unbuttoned Mycroft’s trousers.

‘And how would pulling down my pants do that?’ the politician asked, genuinely curious.

‘I’m going to wrap my lips around your cock,’ Greg explained as he pulled Mycroft’s pants down (with some difficulty because Mycroft wasn’t helping). ‘I’m only telling you because I don’t want you to freak out.’ He looked up at Mycroft and rested his hands on Mycroft’s thighs. ‘Have you ever had a blow job?’

Mycroft shook his head.

‘Do you know what a blow job is?’

Mycroft nodded.

‘Would you like me to give you a blowjob, Mycroft?’

There was a pause and Greg looked down to see Mycroft’s cock twitch. It sent a rush of need through his own body but he had to take this slowly.

‘I’ll take that as a yes,’ he said and reached into Mycroft’s underwear. Mycroft gasped as Greg’s strong hand pulled out his cock. Mycroft was bigger than Greg and he felt a thrill go through his body. He so badly wanted Mycroft to fuck him.

Greg leaned forward to kiss Mycroft’s cock. Mycroft gasped and, despite himself, thrust forward. Greg smiled and wrapped his lips around Mycroft’s cock, moving slowly down the shaft. He licked at the pre-come that coated the head and groaned softly. He’d missed this so much.

Greg fondled Mycroft’s balls as he sucked him off, using his lips, teeth and tongue to bring waves of pleasure to his younger lover. Mycroft groaned and pushed forward, his hands gripping the arm rests of his chair.

Mycroft had never felt anything like this. It was... it was...

‘Amazing!’ Mycroft gasped. ‘I... I...’ He didn’t know what to do, or say. He just looked down at Greg, amazed that the man was sucking his cock. And Mycroft didn’t mind. He didn’t mind that Greg was getting spit all over his skin. He didn’t mind that if he came he’d leak all over himself and possibly his clothes. He just didn’t care because it was so _good._

But Mycroft didn’t want to come. He didn’t want it to be over. He had the sudden urge to do something and pushed Greg back.

‘What?’ Greg asked.

‘Can I...’ Mycroft trailed off, suddenly unsure.

‘Tell me, Mycroft,’ Greg said gently and leaned forward to peck Mycroft on the lips.

‘Can I see... your... um...’

‘My cock?’ Greg asked. Mycroft nodded and Greg smiled. He stood and pulled off his belt before undoing his trousers and letting them fall around his ankles. He reached into his underwear and pulled out his erection.

Mycroft eyed it carefully, aware of the sudden thrill that had bolted through his body. He reached forward, slowly, and ran his index finger along Greg’s shaft.

Greg shivered and Mycroft grinned, an actual, proper grin. He loved the way Greg thrust his hips towards Mycroft’s outstretched hand. He loved the look of longing on his face, and the way the DI bit his bottom lip.

‘Um, can you come closer?’ Mycroft asked.

Greg smiled and stepped closer so his cock was inches from Mycroft’s face, his knees knocking into Mycroft’s. Mycroft wrapped a hand tentatively around Greg’s cock and began stroking, slowly.

‘God, Mycroft,’ Greg groaned and closed his eyes.

‘What?’

‘That’s good,’ Greg said. ‘Very good.’

Mycroft smiled. ‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

Mycroft continued to stroke Greg and watched pre-come leak from Greg’s cock. It made the head look shiny and wet and–

Mycroft leaned forward carefully and licked the pre-come away. It was salty and... and nice. Mycroft smiled and licked again, enjoying the way Greg shivered beneath him.

‘Keep going,’ Greg begged.

Mycroft wrapped his lips around Greg’s cock and moaned as the hot flesh invaded his mouth. It was like nothing Mycroft had ever experienced. He... he loved it, loved that it was Greg’s cock in his mouth. He copied Greg’s actions and took the DI completely, cupping his balls as he ran his teeth along Greg’s shaft.

Greg groaned and sagged slightly. Mycroft pushed him back onto the desk and Greg hit it with a thump, not taking his eyes off Mycroft. He reached out to run a hand through Mycroft’s hair and Mycroft thrived at the contact, loving the feel of Greg’s fingers in his dark brown locks.

‘Mycroft,’ Greg said a minute later.

‘What?’ Mycroft asked, pulling back letting Greg slip from his mouth.

‘That’s very good,’ he said, ‘but if you don’t stop I’m going to come.’

‘Oh,’ Mycroft said. ‘Isn’t that a good thing?’

‘Yes,’ Greg said, ‘but–’

‘But what?’ Mycroft asked. ‘Isn’t the whole point of oral sex to orgasm?’

Greg sighed and leaned down to kiss Mycroft softly. ‘No, Mycroft. When you’re doing this with someone you love, it’s about being together; it’s about sharing that moment of ecstasy and loss of control with the person you love.’

‘Oh,’ Mycroft said. ‘But that’s what we’re doing.’

Greg paused, his hand still resting in Mycroft’s hair. ‘It... it is?’

‘Yes,’ Mycroft said. ‘After all of this I have come to four conclusions, Gregory.’

‘And those would be?’

‘One: I am in love with you.’ Greg smiled. ‘Two: You are in love with me.’ Greg grinned. ‘Three: I am gay.’ Greg chuckled.

‘And four?’ he asked when Mycroft went quiet.

‘I want to have sex with you.’

‘What?’

‘Not just once,’ Mycroft said. ‘I... I want a relationship, like what Sherlock and John have. I want to wake up with you every morning and... and go on dates. I want to try and do that with you, Gregory. I can’t stop thinking about you and I want to spend more time with you.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

Greg smiled and leaned forward to kiss Mycroft softly. Mycroft hummed.

‘What?’

‘I like kissing you,’ Mycroft said. ‘It’s very nice.’

Greg chuckled. ‘I’m glad.’

They kissed again, both forgetting about their erections. But when Mycroft’s elbow brushed against Greg’s, the DI groaned.

‘Gregory?’

‘Mm?’

‘Can we have sex now?’

Greg opened his eyes. ‘Don’t you think it’s a little soon?’

‘No,’ Mycroft said. ‘We’ve known each other for seven years and I’d really, really like to have sex with you. I want to make sure we’re sexually compatible before we go on any dates.’

Greg shook his head.

‘Is that a no?’

‘No, I didn’t mean that,’ Greg said. ‘It’s just... normal couples go on dates first, and then move onto kissing, then oral sex, and later on, you know; sex.’

‘But we’re not a normal couple,’ Mycroft said. ‘I’m a sociopath who has just discovered that I am gay and in love with a handsome Detective Inspector. I have just had my first gay kiss, and blow job, and I don’t want to leave this office without having sex.’

Greg looked down at Mycroft, could see the sincerity and wonder and... need. Mycroft really wanted this, he was ready to explore this new avenue with Greg. But was Greg ready?

‘Have you had sex with a man before?’ Mycroft asked.

‘Yeah, a fair few,’ Greg said.

‘What? How many?’

‘I dunno,’ Greg said, blushing. ‘I don’t keep count, Mycroft.’

‘Well, you can just lead,’ Mycroft said and sat back.

‘Are... are you sure?’ Greg asked. ‘I don’t want this to ruin our chance at a relationship.’

‘While I agree that it would seem wiser to wait to have sex, getting into a relationship and then discovering five months later that you’re not sexually compatible would be very heartbreaking. And I don’t want to go through that with you, Gregory. Spending five months together and then breaking up would be unacceptable.’

‘Unacceptable?’ Greg asked.

‘Yes,’ Mycroft nodded.

‘Well,’ Greg said and grinned. ‘If you’re sure...’

‘I am.’

Greg smiled. ‘Okay then. Um, I don’t have any condoms or anything, Mycroft.’

‘That’s okay.’

‘It is?’

‘I don’t have any sexually transmissible diseases,’ Mycroft said, ‘and your last physical was a week ago. I have it on good authority that you have not had any sexual experiences since you were last given a clean bill of health.’

‘I... wait, how do you know I haven’t had sex?’ Greg demanded.

Mycroft suddenly looked sheepish and Greg just grinned. He was so damn cute.

‘Do you have me under surveillance, Mycroft Holmes?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Not _exactly_?’

‘Well, I keep an eye on your cases and your health. I like to know what’s happening to the people in my brother’s life.’

Greg smiled coyly. ‘Couldn’t just be because you’re madly in love with me?’

‘I guess that played a part,’ Mycroft admitted. ‘Are you mad?’

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘No, definitely not,’ Greg said. ‘You’re too cute to be angry at.’

Mycroft huffed. ‘I am _not_ cute.’

Greg chuckled and leaned forward to peel Mycroft’s jacket off. Mycroft shrugged it off his shoulders and watched as Greg unbuttoned his shirt. He left it hanging off Mycroft’s shoulders but leaned down to kiss Mycroft’s chest.

Encouraged by the groans coming from the politician, Greg trailed his tongue along Mycroft’s chest and to his right nipple. He circled the nipple teasingly before licking over it, enjoying the shivering man below him. He nipped at the nub lightly with his teeth and Mycroft moaned.

He moved to the next nipple while his fingers danced lightly down Mycroft’s skin, making him shiver.

‘You’re very good,’ Mycroft commented.

‘I know,’ Greg said.

‘Can I try?’

‘Yes.’

Greg leaned back against the table and Mycroft pulled himself forward. He helped Greg shove his jacket off and unbuttoned the DI’s rumpled shirt, pulling it free. He marvelled at the well-toned and tanned skin, the light spots where he had burned, peeled and freckled.

He touched Greg’s right nipple tentatively and smiled as it hardened beneath his fingers. He ran his other hand along Greg’s stomach, feeling hard muscles straining beneath tanned skin.

It was amazing what Gregory’s body was doing to him. The last time Mycroft had touched a naked person (a woman) he hadn’t felt anything. He’d been drunk, it had been quick, and it had left Mycroft with an awful taste in his mouth.

He now knew why. Mycroft definitely liked Greg’s strong body, his flat chest and thin hips. He liked the muscled thighs that fell from his torso and the hard cock that was still coated in his own saliva.

Mycroft leaned forward to kiss Greg’s stomach softly and Greg smiled, running his hands through Mycroft’s hair. Mycroft kissed down to Greg’s cock but passed it, continuing onto his thighs. He pulled back when he hit a spot that had Greg giggling.

‘Shut up,’ Greg said, smiling.

Storing that information for later, Mycroft leaned back up to run his tongue from Greg’s cock, up to his stomach, along his chest, his neck, and finally up to his lips. He caught the DI’s in his own and breathed against him, loving the taste.

‘You’re very good,’ Greg commented.

‘I’m a fast learner,’ Mycroft said.

Greg smiled and leaned over to pull Mycroft’s boxers down. Mycroft gasped as Greg pushed him back into his office chair.

‘We need lubrication,’ Greg informed him and bent down to slather Mycroft’s cock with his saliva. He licked all over until Mycroft’s cock was dripping wet. ‘Are you sure about this?’

Mycroft nodded.

Greg positioned himself over Mycroft and looked at him once more. Mycroft nodded again and Greg moved himself down.

Mycroft’s cock squeezed into him and both men groaned. Greg slid down so he sat atop Mycroft, the taller man’s cock completely inside him. He stopped, allowing them both to adjust to this new feeling. It had been ages since Greg had had a cock in his arse and he grinned at the feeling, at the pressure and pleasure.

‘Mycroft?’

‘Mm?’

‘Are you alright?’

‘Yes.’

‘How do you feel?’

Mycroft looked up at him. ‘It’s... good, great. I like the heat and the tightness and... and it’s you. I like it.’

‘Good,’ Greg grinned. ‘It’s about to get a whole lot better.’

He pulled himself up and slid back down again. Mycroft gasped as Greg’s arse pulled at his cock, milking it softly. He moaned and leaned back, enjoying the tightness around him.

‘This is one of the many ways to have sex with a man,’ Greg said and smirked at Mycroft. ‘Do you like it?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you’re actually enjoying sex?’

‘Y-yes!’ Mycroft stuttered.

‘Tell me, Mycroft.’

‘I l-like it!’ he gasped. His hands rested on Greg’s hips and helped him move up and down. ‘F-fuck, Greg.’

Greg grinned. ‘I knew you loved me.’

Mycroft couldn’t speak anymore. He was grunting, groaning, moaning, and whimpering as Greg’s tight arse squeezed around him. It was the most beautiful, delicious, mind-blowing and wonderful thing he’d ever felt before.

Greg reached down to stroke himself, knowing he’d come better with the extra pressure. Mycroft leaned forward to rest his head against Greg’s chest as the older man bounced up and down.

‘F-fuck,’ Greg moaned and felt one of Mycroft’s hands wrap around his own. He helped Greg jerk himself off, his other hand on Greg’s left hip.

‘I-I’m going to-to come,’ Greg gasped.

His body was getting hotter, the pleasure from his crotch radiating up and along the rest of him. His skin was tingling and his mind was going fuzzy.

Mycroft couldn’t believe how good it felt. Finally he understood why people engaged in sex. Because what he was doing with Gregory– he wanted to do it again and again and again. He never wanted to stop. He wanted to feel like this each and every day.

He was aware of his cock vibrating from the sex, from Greg’s tightness. He could feel himself on the verge of a climax. It soured through his body, pushing aside everything and anything it saw.

And then Mycroft was coming with a loud groan, thrusting up to milk the climax as long as he could. It was the absolute best orgasm he had ever had and felt physically spent when he fell back into his seat. He was aware he was still stroking Greg, who was yet to reach his own climax.

Mycroft leaned forward to kiss Greg passionately and grip his hair with his free hand.

‘Please come,’ Mycroft said, seeing the lust dancing through Greg’s eyes. ‘Come for me.’

And Greg did, his body jerking atop Mycroft. His arse squeezed down tightly and Mycroft grinned at the pressure around his own limp cock. Next time he wanted them to come together; he knew it would be better that way.

Greg’s seed spurted across Mycroft’s stomach and he watched Greg with interest as the absolute bliss of an orgasm crossed the DI’s face. His jaw was slack, his eyes shut, his face smooth and free of anything but joy.

Blinking, Greg looked down at Mycroft and kissed him swiftly.

‘I like sex,’ Mycroft said. ‘I want to do it again.’

‘Jesus, give us a minute,’ Greg huffed but he was smiling.

‘Gregory?’

‘Mm?’ Greg murmured against Mycroft’s lips.

‘Can we go on a date later?’

‘Later?’

‘I have a meeting in ten minutes.’

Greg chuckled. ‘What are we going to do about the mess?’ He looked down at Mycroft’s skin. It was sticky with Greg’s come and he knew his lap, and Greg’s arse, would look much the same.

Mycroft reached into his top draw and pulled out a packet of tissues. Greg smiled.

Ten minutes later they were both dressed and shared a goodbye kiss. There was a promise of a late dinner, and a night at Lestrade’s where Mycroft told himself he’d let the DI penetrate him.

There was the promise of a future, of more dates and sex and company. And maybe one day marriage, and kids, if they both felt ready for it.

Mycroft couldn’t be sure of anything. Love could not be put down and predicted. It was unlike anything Mycroft had experienced before; it was messy, and stupid, and wonderful, and crazy, and Mycroft enjoyed it.

He enjoyed being in love with Gregory Lestrade. And he enjoyed Gregory Lestrade being in love with him.

There were only four things Mycroft Holmes was sure of:

One: Mycroft Holmes was gay.

Two: Mycroft Holmes was in love with Gregory Lestrade.

Three: Gregory Lestrade was in love with Mycroft Holmes.

Four: Mycroft’s little problem, the one that had been bothering him for months, was gone. And it was rather fun getting rid of it.

 

 

{THE END}

 

 

****


End file.
